


But why can't there be flying cars

by scribblywobblytimeylimey



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Banter, Bisexuality, Blow Jobs, Bucky Angst, Dream Sex, Fluff, I just blame Steve's messed up timeline. That's my story and I'm sticking to it, Internalized Homophobia, Masturbation, Multi, Past Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Steve Feels, Stony - Freeform, Superhusbands, Tony is an ass, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Wet Dream, What's new, Wrestling, it's all fluff and games until the dreams start getting a bit risque, precognitive abilities, really sucky ones, the future's bright, the future's red and gold
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-25
Updated: 2014-05-25
Packaged: 2018-01-26 10:22:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1684868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribblywobblytimeylimey/pseuds/scribblywobblytimeylimey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>June 1938. To begin with, he tells his best friend about the dreams.</p><p>Bucky laughs, heartily and good-naturedly as always. “Don’t get your hopes up, pal. Judging by your track record, I’d say you’re gonna stay skinny.”</p><p>It’s just Steve’s luck that he doesn’t have any actual precognitive powers, like knowing what the lotto numbers are gonna be next week or which fist the guy’s gonna use to take a pop at him. But he has the best friend a guy could ask for, and at least the dreams entertain him.</p><p>[In which Steve starts having dreams about the fuuuUUUUuuuuture, and Bucky always ends up in hysterics at the antics of Howard Stark’s imagined son and the idea of portable telephones. “Hello, operator? Never mind, I’m already on my way round to his place”]</p>
            </blockquote>





	But why can't there be flying cars

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I'll be uploading a lot of smut soon, so if that interests you, please consider subscribing and/or following me on tumblr!
> 
> Okay, back over to Bucky

 “So what year’s this one from?” Bucky asks, shit-eating grin at a devil-may-care angle on his face. He’s lost a piece of pepperoni while entranced, and he grabs at it before Steve can and stuffs it in his mouth with a happy smile.

“I told you. Two thousand and twelve.”

“Ang izh this one affer you stop beeng frozen?”

“Yes. Keep up, will ya, Buck?” He grins and leans back, laughing at himself and shaking his head. “I told you, I can’t remember anything before that point.”

“Riiiiiiiiiiight,” Bucky says with approximately 11 i’s. “Convenient.” He tears off another chunk of pizza and winks. “Alright. Proceed.”

“So there’s hot water. Pipin’ hot. Everyone in America has it on tap, pretty much.”

“How?” Bucky says through a disgusting mess of half-chewed pizza, putting about as much effort into hiding his mouthful as his friendly but complete disbelief.

“I dunno. I think it runs on some form of electricity.”

His friend snorts. “Uh, Steve, you know water and cables and that don’t exactly mix all that nice…?”

“Shut up. I know.” He shoves him, but he’s too far gone with the laughing.

“Damn, Steve. I know it’s been a while since you failed Physics 101, but I thought some of the stupid might’ve worn off…”

“Everyone wears weird clothes,” he interrupts to shut him up, “And the girls all wear short skirts and the like.”

There’s a momentary look of shock, Bucky’s plump lip hanging low, before he shoves him back. “You dog - sure, sure, future dreams, ‘future’, and in the future all the dames walk around naked as the day they were born-“

“It’s not like that,” Steve says, flushing, because it’s  _not_ ; he wouldn’t just eyeball someone without their consent, and  _besides_ , if he had his way in these dreams, half the guys would be naked, too.

Or, if he really had his way,  _Bucky_  might be. But he sure as hell couldn’t share his little yarns with him if that were the case.

“Okay. Okay, okay, okay.” Bucky holds up his palms. “So: future. Two thousand twelve, it is.”

“They call it twenty-twelve, too,” Steve says, suddenly remembering.

Bucky puts on airs. “Ooh, ooh, Mr Millennium, we call it twenty-twelve, I’m from the future, everything is shiny…”

“And everyone on the planet is connected by this invisible force. They can use it to talk to people anywhere. Even face to face, sort of. Sort of with a tv screen. And it’s all in color. And with sound.”

Bucky stares at him.

He bursts into pained tears of laughter. “Oh my god,” he gasps. “Oh, MAN! Who’s your dealer? Gimme just one hit of whatever you’re on, I swear…”

Steve lies back, wheezing with laughter, holding it back as best he can so it doesn’t ruin the moment, Bucky worrying and running to fetch his meds. “I think originally they were going to call it the Galactic Highway. Then they decided on something more tame…”

Bucky makes a sound like a sad dog and rolls onto his front, face puce and shoulders heaving as he sobs onto his wrists.

When he finally gets back up, he looks better than Steve’s seen him in weeks, all his worries forgotten; which is always the point of telling him about these dumb dreams, anyway.

“Steve.” He says it a little breathlessly. “Write a goddamn book. People would pay to read this shit. I’m serious here.”

Steve laughs. “Millenium man. Carved from a chrysalis of ice. Can he save the day? He doesn’t need to. Everyone else has super fast travel, too.”

“Hell yeah. Where’s his sidekick? Am I in the future, too? I bet I’m gonna be in the future, too,” he insists, head falling back, showing every last tooth.

“Well, hey, don’t get too cocky yet,” Steve smirks. “They’ve only just holed me up out of the ice. Let’s wait and see.”

 

He’s honestly expecting to start dreaming Bucky into it somewhere soon.

 

He isn’t prepared for what happens next.

 

* * *

 

 

“Okay. Get this. There’s this man who flies around-“ Bucky’s already trying not to laugh. “-In an iron suit. It’s red and gold. And he fights crime.”

“My god. You’ve done it. Officially nothing else you say can shock me now.”

“Wait for it. There’s a big green guy too. And some gods. From mythology, or something.”

Bucky giggles gleefully. “Oh, I was wrong.”

“Oh, and because I’m all big and strong, someone said I’m meant to fight crime with all of them.”

“I’m gonna piss myself,” Bucky wheezes.  “Who’s someone?”

“No idea. Don’t remember.”

“Well, go back to sleep, dumbass. It’s way past your bedtime, anyway.”

“God,  _mom._  Someone’s jealous he isn’t a comic book superhero.”

“Uh, hello?” Bucky waves at him. “I’m clearly the guy in the iron suit.” He sniggers. “Or maybe the boss guy.” He gives him a gentle push. “Why don’t you go rest up and find out, huh?”

 

* * *

 

 

“Well," Steve says the next day. "You’re not the boss guy.”

“Why the hell not?” Bucky pouts pathetically and beautifully, flicking his empty bottle petulantly. “Hey, Steve, grab me another one, would ya?”

Steve hands him the beer with a smug look. “Last time I checked, you were white.”

“Deeeetails,” Bucky drawls, swallowing long. Steve stares.

“And no eye patch.”

Bucky automatically clamps one hand to his eye, full on puppy-dog dough eye with the other one right at Steve. “Does it suit me?”

“Oh, you bet,” he snorts. He makes to take another drink then brings up his hand as if to shield his mouth, twisting his lips to the side with a theatrical whisper of “Other eye.”

Bucky switches them without missing a beat, nearly knocking over his bottle but not even sparing a glance downward.

Steve laughs. “You really are something, Barnes.”

“Damn right I am. It’s why I’m squadron leader of your little freakshow. Oh, hey, what about the mystery metal man?” 

Steve makes a gleeful sound. “Okay, get this,” he says, leaning in, because until Bucky’d reminded him it had slipped his mind, and even _he_ hadn’t known his subconscious was this creative. “I asked the boss guy who the heck this iron man was - turns out it’s _Howard Stark’s son.”_

He will forever be proud of having reduced James Bucky Barnes to a whimpering ball of laughter on the floor of his apartment.

It’s not surprising, really - Stark had been at every World’s Fair they’d ever been at, and was probably the last fella in the world you could peg as a family man.

Steve takes great pleasure in explaining to Bucky, very patiently, that Anthony Stark is a weapons expert who gets wounded by his own missile. Then he has to make himself a magical glowing blue box instead of a heart, in a cave, to keep himself alive. Then he builds himself a robot suit. He also has a lot of sex and sits on top of buildings and other places he shouldn't be.

Steve talks about this until Bucky actually has to leave the room, not returning for a good few minutes.

The ensuing cycle of discussion, lasting a full fifteen minutes, is almost as painfully funny.

"Did you wet your pants, Buck."

"No, Steve. I didn't wet my pants."

"But did you, Buck."

"No, _Steve,_ I did not wet my pants..."

 Steve's heart aches with warmth through it all, glad that someone likes him for his weird, jumbled up brain and his weird, jumbled up body. Even if it is only friendship, and nothing more.

When the laughter winds down, Bucky actually asks a semi-serious question.

“So, listen. You don’t remember any of what happens between now and the defrosting?”

Steve gives a shake of the head. “Nope.”

“Well, what does that mean?”

“Dunno. Maybe that when I wake up as a macho man, I won’t remember the dreams?"

Bucky whistles. “Damn, that sucks. We could be at war tomorrow and we don’t even know about it.”

“Yeah,” Steve says absently. “And you still can’t even beat me in a wrestling match. Shocking.”

Bucky calls him a punk and pins him easily, laughing. Steve’s almost lucky his breath’s normally short so Bucky doesn’t notice anything’s amiss, and he’s also lucky that he’s so weak it’s always over in seconds. It’s short enough to avoid embarrassing incidents, but long enough to think about from time to time when he just  _needs_  to.

 

* * *

 

That night he finally meets the iron man, and it turns out he’s sarcastic, rude, and unbelievably sexy.

He’s simultaneously the best and worst thing about Steve’s odd dreams of this alternate universe future.

They get on insofar as - well, actually, they don’t.

“In your own time, Spangles.”

“Not my name, Shellhead,” Steve shoots back at him. Tony only grins sweetly.

It’s only a goddanged grin. It shouldn’t have this effect on Steve, but it does, turns his insides to jelly. Especially when Tony curses and does a backflip midair. What fresh hell it all is, Steve doesn’t know, but it sure as hell gets the blood rushing south.

They all get food after. They don’t talk much, any of them, but Tony’s the main participator and Steve’s a close second. He’s obnoxious, dazzlingly so, but quick-witted and charmingly honest.

When they leave, he watches him go almost ravenously.

 

* * *

 

Steve wakes up with a hard-on.

 

He doesn’t think about Bucky Barnes, or any of the girls in the neighborhood. He thinks about his imaginary friend, Tony Stark.

 

It’s tragic, really, but somehow he feels less guilty about it.

 

* * *

 

“So, any more whacko future dreams?”

He doesn’t know why it feels like cheating on Bucky - the thought is more ridiculous than home-cooked pizza in minutes. He’s not  _with_  Bucky. He’s not  _with_ Tony Stark. Ever the more important distinction,  _Tony Stark is not real._

“No,” he says.

 “Huh,” Bucky says.

They don't mention it again, but the dreams don’t stop.

 

* * *

 

 Tony Stark kisses him another week or two into his dreams.

Actually, it’s probably been almost two years, now, within the universe of his imaginary future, though it all comes in flashes. He knows that Tony Stark is his best friend. He knows they've saved each other's lives countless times. He knows about the nameless feelings and the unspoken words, but over the years they've said most of them anyway, one way or another.

That's almost all he knows. He doesn’t have memories of what’s in between and he still doesn’t know much about this strange new world, and on top of that, it’s frequently out of sequence. Nevertheless, tonight, it feels like two years, and Steve wants it. His whole body wants it. And he needs it so bad.

He breaks the kiss. “Tony - I - we can’t.”

Tony’s hands feel so good on his back, so right, and his body responds in spite of himself. “What? What do you mean?” 

“I - I mean that I - we…” He pulls away, turns away, covers his eyes, lips trembling. “The…the team, and..for the sake of…and…and…if people knew…”

Tony’s hand lands on his shoulder. He spins him round, and he has a soft, fond, amused look on his face. “So what? Come on, Steve. It’s legal for two men to  _marry_ now.”

He says it like the Steve in the dream knows it, but the Steve  _dreaming_  certainly doesn’t.

His brain spins in circles: slow at first, then faster, faster, the room blurring, but only because of the tears.

“Steve?”

 Steve gasps in a breath and wipes his eyes and says “Shut up” and kisses him again.

 

* * *

 

Steve’s dreams get infinitely more taboo after that. He should be growing hair on his palms, should be going blind. Instead, he…

Well, he’s thought about kissing a man many a time before, but he never provided himself with much more detail.

Tony Stark loves detail. He also loves providing it.

It makes Steve blush in the day time, thinking about his naughty dreams about his sexually adventurous imaginary sweetheart who says dirty, filthy things to him and does dirty, filthy things to him.

Steve is tempted to go to church and confess when he finally dreams himself on top of Tony Stark, between his legs, hips moving, Tony moaning, all sweat and clumsy grip, ankles on Steve’s shoulders for the final moments when his voice goes rosy red…

Steve wakes up sticking to his underwear. His underwear sticks to the sheets. He's irrationally happy in the face of these inconveniences.

Steve buys himself a blue lampshade and tells himself he just liked the color.

Steve can’t see a man with dark facial hair without starting to walk like a robot and needing to adjust. 

 

So, that’s what he’s left with instead of blindness and hand-hair.

 

* * *

 

Pathetic, and Bucky would tell him so too if he knew.

 

Dreaming about having a body someone could desire.

 

Dreaming about a man he desires wanting him back.

 

Dreaming that the world accepts men who want each other.

 

He notices the marks on his pants before he notices he’s crying, and stares at them for a moment. It’s not like any other stain. It’s just like his pants were before, only a little darker, soft around the edges, the tracks of them just blurring reality like a veil. It occurs to him that no matter what surface tears fall on, they make it look like it’s crying, too.

 

* * *

 

When the war begins, his dreams stop. 

He never forgets; not quite. As a result, years after those silly dreams, he panics at the serum and he panics at the costume, worrying that it’s all coming true, but he hasn’t had new dreams in a long time and doesn’t have more after his transformation.

It gave him pause for thought when Dr Erskine tells him good becomes better and bad becomes worse; makes him want to snap and tell him all about his crazy future dreams and how he dreams about sucking a man’s cock. He imagines letting it all out at long last, telling him every last detail, _are you sure, are you sure you want to do this, when I dream about fucking him, teasing his head with my tongue._  

It’s mad, though, of course it’s mad, his silly little fantasies of a shiny, happy, magical world of miracles.

 

* * *

 

He meets Peggy and he likes her instantly.

He meets Howard and assumes they’re together.

And god, wouldn’t that be all kinds of awkward? If she were Tony’s  _mother?_

He tells himself Tony is a figment of his imagination, but it’s still weird. He tries to avoid it. He’s half glad when he finds out it’s nothing, and half not. However he feels, when he sees the round shield, his brain lunges for it.

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky dies and Peggy is real, and Steve gives up his mad love for his imaginary lover. He loved Bucky and Bucky is gone. He loves Peggy and he can’t lose her too.

 

* * *

 

When he knows he’s going to lose her, his chest seizes up. It’s what he thinks of first, before thinking he’s going to die. He doesn’t have everything he wanted, but he has his health, he can fight, and he has Peggy.  It’s no dream world, but he never really expected anyone could give him his fantasies. They’ve still given him everything he needed and more, and now he’s going to die.

_Oh god,_  he thinks, over and over, and  _Peggy._ And  _Bucky_ , and  _Peggy_  again, and then he looks at the sheets of water below him and somewhere in his brain a silent voice says  _ice_  and the other voice, the voice that speaks aloud inside his head, says  _What if Tony’s real._

A whole new universe of terror awakens inside of him.

It speaks in the silent voice, asking him what if he wakes up again? Could he wake up again? Might he remember the dreams he had as a kid? Might he forget it all?

The fear of not knowing is a cavern inside him whose edges he can never touch. Blue light fills his eyes and the silent voice is so loud he has no time to think another name before he crashes.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> “But how come Bucky doesn’t dream of the future?” I hear an imaginary commenter say.
> 
>  
> 
> Steve is Steve in the future. Steve gets to keep the memories he’s dreaming about after they happen.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> [el tumblo](http://scribblywobblytimeylimey.tumblr.com)


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